Chapter 109

Perhaps because he had lived in a small house for too long, Wang Dashan developed an obsession with large houses. After making more money, he bought another, bigger house beyond the one he initially purchased when he first moved to the city; now, with just three people living in it, the space felt somewhat empty.

Long Teng itself was already involved in real estate, and a large building nearing its final roof, not far from the city center, was one they had constructed as a shopping mall.

He had already planned: once this project was completed and funds became more plentiful, he would invest in developing a villa district—reserving a prime spot for himself, building exactly as he wished, according to his own desires.

Luo Yuzhu spoke of extravagance aloud, but inwardly felt sweet, for he had forgotten the words he once spoke in that small house by the railway. Besides, every penny had been earned bit by bit, just like Wang Yan—why not live as comfortably as possible?

After tucking in the sleeping Wang Xu, Luo Yuzhu returned to the spacious master bedroom.

She saw Wang Dashan leaning against the wide headboard, reading a book with great interest. Without disturbing him, she walked to one side and began skincare—something she had learned from the young girls in the company who had returned from studying abroad.

She had never cared before, but seeing fashionable, beautiful young women, she, as a woman herself, couldn't help but feel a little envious. She bought a set of high-end skincare products, used them for a while, and found they actually worked—her skin truly had improved. Since Long Teng was so wealthy and well-established, she simply invested some money to start a cosmetics company dedicated to researching this.

After busying herself for hours, she glanced at Wang Dashan, who was reading intently, through the mirror's reflection. Luo Yuzhu casually removed her face mask, went out to wash her face, then warmed two cups of milk and brought them in.

Drinking warm milk at night was said to aid sleep, enhance bodily functions and immunity, boost resistance, and beautify the skin. Given their social obligations, she was fine, but Wang Dashan had gone from never drinking at all to drinking a little, and now he was a hardened drinker—he drank heavily, and milk helped sober him up. Overall, it felt good, and after drinking it for years, it had become a habit.

She handed Wang Dashan one cup, then picked up her own and took a sip: "Put the book down, drink your milk, and get some rest."

He obediently placed the book on the nightstand, took the milk, held Luo Yuzhu's hand in one, and wore a blissful expression—what more could a man ask for than such a wife? "I'll do whatever you say, Yuzhu. You're so good."

She pulled her hand away and said: "Drink it fast. Brush your teeth and go to sleep."

Wang Dashan didn't mind, chuckled, stood up, drained his cup of milk, and went with Luo Yuzhu to the bathroom to brush their teeth.

They turned off the light and got into bed. As an old married couple, they didn't cuddle—each lay on their own side.

"What did you mean by what you said to Wang Yan today? Do you have a grudge against him?"

After a long silence, Luo Yuzhu finally asked—it was clear Wang Dashan wasn't asleep.

As his closest companion, she knew better than anyone how he had changed.

Over the past three years, Wang Dashan had grown rapidly, a development inseparable from Long Teng's explosive growth and his own efforts. But he seemed lost in the world of fame and fortune. As his wife, she felt it was her duty to remind him, to keep him from straying.

Wang Dashan paused: "No? I just said it offhand. What's wrong?"

"When he first offered us fifty percent, he clearly said he wouldn't get involved in management. Now he's been idle for less than a year, and you say that? The capital was his, the direction was his, last year he personally went north to deal with the Russians—you don't know who those people are? You think all the credit is ours? Without him, could you have done anything? If not for his guidance, would we be where we are today? Dashan… Wang Yan has treated us well. One must never forget one's roots."

Luo Yuzhu pleaded earnestly with Wang Dashan. He wasn't foolish; the more she interacted with Wang Yan, the more she sensed he was far from ordinary.

From the company's founding to now, every step had been correct, every move ahead of others—was that a joke? Last year's dealings with the Russians had shocked her. Small-time dealings were fine, no one cared. But when it came to large-scale transactions, acquiring key technologies—could you possibly handle the tangled web of powerful forces? Yet Wang Yan had still managed to bring back plenty of valuable things, propelling Long Teng's rapid growth. Honestly, she was even a little afraid.

Wang Dashan mused: "I know what you're saying. It was truly unintentional."

Luo Yuzhu sighed: "Now we need to keep investing in innovation and R&D. What are you thinking? Do you think it's a waste of money, useless? That we should just buy others' technology instead? Don't you remember? When our clothing factory first opened, you said we must develop our own technology, earn money through our own efforts. But now? Dashan… you really need to reflect."

After a long silence, Wang Dashan said: "I'm sorry, Yuzhu. I've let you down."

Luo Yuzhu didn't feel anything was wrong. Massive wealth could easily cloud judgment—it was normal. After all, when she first earned far more money than others, she had been floating on cloud nine. How much more so for Wang Dashan, who had reached this point in just three short years?

She turned toward Wang Dashan; in the darkness, their eyes met. Luo Yuzhu reached out and stroked his face: "Don't overthink it. I'm not blaming you. I just don't want you to take the wrong path. Dashan, nothing matters more than our family living in peace and harmony."

Wang Dashan touched the hand on his face: "Thank you, Yuzhu. Don't worry—I know. I won't think foolishly again. It's late. Get some sleep. We're busy tomorrow."

She hummed in response, leaned forward, and lightly kissed his forehead. She lay back, and soon fell into deep sleep.

Feeling his beloved's steady breathing beside him, Wang Dashan lay awake, staring blankly at the ceiling, unaware of when he finally drifted off.

No one knew Wang Dashan's inner journey, but after that day, he became noticeably more composed.

Wang Yan never judged by appearances. Not to mention the many people he'd met or the many things he'd experienced—he himself was no saint.

He may now appear confident and calm, as if mountains collapsing before him wouldn't faze him, but in truth, he simply didn't care. What did he fear? Death. Predictable death. He hadn't lived enough. The longer he lived, the more he feared death—Wang Yan was no exception. He had not yet transcended life and death.

If he truly couldn't match someone and his life was threatened, he'd grovel like a grandson—better than a grandson, licking with absolute clarity and comfort. But given the chance, he'd sweep away fallen leaves with autumn wind, leaving not a trace of mercy.

So how Wang Dashan behaved didn't matter to him. He watched actions—whether Wang Dashan would do anything behind his back. As the saying goes, time reveals a person's true nature. Let's wait and see.

………

Chen Jianghe returned to his factory in a daze, spending the entire day staring at the brick engraved with Luo Yuzhu's childhood and maternal love, in the old factory building, forcing himself to get back to work.

After three years of development, their factory's "Yuzhu" brand socks were reasonably priced, high-quality, and notably excellent—so much so that they sold extremely well. Many customers ordered large quantities and paid substantial deposits. But their factory was only so big, with limited production capacity. So many orders piled up, overwhelming their output—they simply couldn't keep up. They had no choice but to purchase new machinery and expand production lines to meet demand. It was a happy problem.

But before they could savor the happiness, only the troubles remained. For some reason, Japanese machines refused to sell to him. He tried every method, contacted everyone—it was useless. His office phone was ringing nonstop, all from customers demanding delivery. At this moment, if they failed to deliver on time, it would be a breach of contract. Once breached, even selling the entire factory wouldn't cover the damages—it was a life-or-death crisis.

At this very moment, Yang Xue appeared, tall and commanding: shoulder-length hair, a long trench coat, black stockings, high heels, her curves fully displayed.

She went on a tirade with Chen Jianghe, accusing him of stealing Yang family's market, copying Japanese technology, and raiding Yang family's warehouse. She declared herself the sole heir of the Yang family, and without her, this tiny factory could be crushed in an instant. She pressured and bribed him to let her take control of the sock factory. In her words, she valued his talent—his ability to revive a dying factory and turn it into a threat to her family within three years. What she didn't say outright: she found this talent deeply attractive.

Though she coerced him, she truly helped him—otherwise, the sock factory might have collapsed. Such behavior couldn't be criticized. But one must admit: having money and power truly made a difference—even the way she pursued a man was different.

This also showed Yang Xue wasn't impulsive. Three years ago, she met Chen Jianghe at a machine exhibition in Shanghai, then followed the Japanese to help repair machines, during which she developed a soft spot for him. But she only took action after careful consideration and a full three years of observation.

Chen Jianghe knew her claims were true. He wanted to refuse, but circumstances were stronger than man. The Russians had spoken: fall behind, and you get beaten. If he refused, the factory would collapse—what would become of all the people who depended on him? What about the "Yuzhu" brand? He had no choice but to grit his teeth and sign the unequal contract, allowing Yang Xue to take control of the sock factory.

Once in power, Yang Xue solved the production problem and immediately began restructuring: cutting departments and staff, severing ties with small vendors, and firing Chen Jianghe's uncle. In her words: "Merchants prioritize profit. Value for money must be maximized—profit is squeezed out." This reflected her father's influence, her Western education, and the prevailing culture of greed.

This clashed with Chen Jianghe's upbringing in the "Sugar Tapper" tradition: "Take four, give six; open four doors; pay respects to all docks; value emotion and righteousness." It caused great friction. But later, he discovered his uncle had been taking kickbacks in procurement—he finally understood why Yang Xue had acted as she did. Realizing this, he brought two bottles of wine to apologize to Yang Xue, easing their relationship.

Yang Xue didn't mind—after all, love could forgive many things. To her, these were trivial matters.

Next came the harmony of man and woman working together. They cooperated sincerely, reorganizing internally and expanding externally. Along the way, Yang Xue's affection for Chen Jianghe grew deeper—her eyes, her heart, were entirely his.

One day, as they discussed where to place the new production line and how to plan it, everyone gathered to deliberate.

Yang Xue noticed the old factory building, scorched by fire. She was shown around by Xiao Jiang, the factory's only college graduate and its technician.

"Our factory manager says we'll turn this into a Hall of Honor," Xiao Jiang said with a smile. "Every new employee will come here to learn, to see how our sock factory has grown."

Chen Jianghe had his own charm. In three years, he had brought the factory to this level, understood innovation, and had grand ambitions—Xiao Jiang deeply admired him.

Yang Xue glanced around at the soot-stained walls and said indifferently: "Remembering bitterness to appreciate sweetness? What century are we in? Still using such outdated methods?"

Her words weren't wrong. In this era, everything was being renewed, everything demanded change. Bosses, seeing daily cash inflows, pushed themselves relentlessly to grow, to seize market share and earn more—they had to attract talent and skilled workers, and that meant spending money. If your conditions weren't good enough, and your competitor offered more, what could you do?

But later, in the real world's time, people hadn't changed—still the same crowd. Only these old bastards had changed: they now revived the very things they once scorned. They began lecturing you about life, ideals, giving you classes on corporate culture, personal value.

At first, the young believed them—truly believed. The Chinese were the most hardworking, the most diligent, the most ambitious. With visible goals, they worked harder than anyone else, impossible to hold back. But after years of struggle, except for a few with talent, who were truly extraordinary, or blessed by fate, most remained empty-handed, aimless.

What remained for most was years of leaving home, still strangers in a foreign land, bodies weakened, hair gone, desires vanished. Meanwhile, bosses changed houses, changed cars, became new grooms every night. Looking back, they still couldn't afford a house, a car, a wife.

Then came lying flat. The group holding the discourse power stepped forward, on every channel, licking their lips, speaking nonsense with utter audacity. You criticize them, and they act as if you're a useless piece of wood they're worried about, as if they're concerned for the nation.

These young people? Truly pitiful.

Seeing Yang Xue's rebuttal, Xiao Jiang countered: "It really works. Every time our manager hits a wall, he locks himself in here for hours—and afterward, he's like he's been injected with adrenaline."

Yang Xue paused, puzzled, and asked, "Why? Is there something special here?"

Xiao Jiang pointed to the side and said, "Maybe it's because of this." He didn't know anything else, but he knew Chen Jianghe was definitely someone with a story. Otherwise, how could a brick painted with a little figure give him such strength? How could he pick a brand name, say a bunch of nonsense, yet it be a little girl's name?

Yang Xue stepped closer in the direction he pointed, and when she saw the content, she couldn't help but read aloud: "'Yuzhu and Mom… Yuzhu Brand…'"

After saying it, she froze. So that's why she'd felt Chen Jianghe was off—always dodging her little teasing. It was all because of this.

Ignoring Xiao Jiang, once she understood what was going on, Yang Xue turned and walked away. This old factory couldn't be kept—it had to be torn down.

In the drama, Chen Jianghe was now following the uncle who had been fired, searching for Luo Yuzhu; he had already mourned deeply from afar, so now he was working in his office.

Hearing a knock, Chen Jianghe didn't look up and said, "Come in."

After a moment, he heard the familiar tap-tap of high heels on cement, and he stood up and said, "You're here? Sit." He pulled out the chair opposite his desk for her, then turned and walked over to pick up a thermos, pouring a cup of hot water: "What's wrong?"

Ps: This might be a bit forward, but little brother has to say it. Good older brothers, if you've got time, drop a vote or two—thanks!